


The Unsung

by AniKey



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: And various others - Freeform, Gen, tags will be updated as necessary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 10:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AniKey/pseuds/AniKey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are those whose lives barely warrant a footnote in that of the Dragonborn. They have crossed paths; the stories of their lives are intertwined so that it is impossible to tell one without telling part of the other, but ultimately, when hundreds of years down the road the stories are told and the songs are sung, they will be forgotten. These are those stories- the stories of those touched by the the Dragonborn, their lives forever changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unsung

**Author's Note:**

> Basically a series of one-shots about various character's experiences with the Dragonborn, because I form a ridiculous number of headcanons whenever I play this game.

This hadn’t been what she’d expected. 

She’d trained with sword and shield until her muscles became stiff and ached, and worn her armor so often that it now felt strange to walk around without its burden on her shoulders.

And in the end, Lydia had expected to spend her days within the walls of Dragonsreach, protecting her Thane from disgruntled townspeople and the occasional assassin. It would have been a quiet life, full of court politics and petty squabbles. 

That life was no longer an option for her, and she wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed, annoyed, or relieved. Most days it was a mix of the three. 

Since that day in Dragonsreach when her soon-to-be Thane had staggered up to the Jarl’s throne wild-eyed and covered in blood, their armor scorched and torn like paper with a group of shell-shocked guards following in their wake, and claimed to the the Dragonborn of legend, she’d been dragged through barrows and dwarven ruins alike. Often she barely escaped with her life.

She did her best to protect them, as she was sworn to do, but more often than not it felt like she was the one who needed protecting. How could you protect the one who fought dragons as casually as some men fought off wolves? But still, Lydia did her best, and she’d saved them from a well-aimed arrow or unexpected blow more than once.

The least they could do was show some gratitude. Some days she was little better than a glorified pack mule, dragging the treasures they couldn’t be bothered to carry out of ancient ruins. 

During the times when the Dragonborn left her in Whiterun for a while to go off on their own, sometimes a dragon would fly overhead. When that happened, Lydia would sigh, pick up her weapon, and go fight the damned thing. It would leave many of the town’s guards dead, or nearly so, and many of the buildings on fire, but time after time, the beast would fly away on torn wings to go find easier prey.

Her body was a mass of scars and wounds by now, and she wore each one like a badge. The one just above her left hip had been given to her by a particularly fast draugr, and her left shoulder was a mass of reddened and distorted flesh from where she’d been clipped by a dragon’s fire. 

In the end though, the Dragonborn had grown on her. Whiterun was still her home, and it would always be, but more and more often Lydia found herself growing bored on the quiet days. She’d known she’d never really been cut out for court life, but the last few months had made that more apparent than ever before.

And so she found herself waiting in Breezehome for the Dragonborn to come strolling in the door; to say “Come with me” in a voice that resonated with barely-hidden power. And Lydia knew that no matter what, she always would.


End file.
